Claimed
by Suni-Dlight
Summary: Ophelia has had a rough go, not that that made her special; there was nothing but rough goes nowadays. When she runs into a group of men, she expects the worst, only to have her life changed for ever.
1. Claimed

**Disclaimer: I do not own the world of Walking Dead or its characters.**

* * *

Ophelia woke with a start, not sure how she had let herself fall into such a deep sleep in the first place. She took a couple of deep breaths, calming down her beating heart before she checked the surrounding area.

The trees were thick, so she couldn't see very far, even from her vantage point but everything seemed still. The sun was a quarter away from the horizon, so it was maybe just past ten. Below her, everything was quiet, no dead ones roaming, or people nearby. Quickly, Ophelia reached forward, untying the bungie cord from around her legs before she reached under her front facing backpack, loosening the one under her breast that kept her propped up against the tree. Straddling the branch, she held one bungie cord out and let it fall to the ground, waiting to see if anything appeared. When all remained quiet, she stuffed the other cord in her backpack, flipped her backpack onto her back so that she could begin her decent down. The tree bark scratched against her cargo pants, scraped against the wraps around her palms but by now she was used to it. When shelter wasn't accessible, she found it easier and safer to sleep in tree, no matter how uncomfortable it got.

Ophelia jumped the last few feet and brushed her hands against her pants before settling on the ground to check her inventory.

Two bungie cords

A bag of apples

A pack of turkey lunch meat (which she needed to finish as it was starting to look colorless)

An eight pack of underwear (which she had already gone through, three times now, but it was nice to have options)

A spare blanket

A pocket calendar and pen

A beanie

She zipped up the backpack, sighing. She was in desperate need of more food, but so far, she had just been wandering this wood and she doubted she would be able to find much else. The knife at her side came in handy once, when she had braved stabbing at a snake and, though she still cringed at the thought of eating it, it was better than eating rotting lunch meat. She hadn't much luck catching any other animals, however, not that she had ever needed to hunt before the world went to hell.

She got to her feet, pulling the backpack on and tightening the straps. Looking around, Ophelia wondered what direction she should try as she pulled her hair out of the bun, letting the curls flop around her head. She had no specific direction other than trying to find shelter or a place with food. So far, she had managed to avoid people and monsters and she planned to keep it that way as well. What Ophelia really needed was a stream or a creek. Hell, she'd settle on a bit of rain, though she knew she'd just end up cold that way. The leather jacket kept her warm enough but if it rained she was screwed, not to mention her tennis shoes.

Ophelia started walking, counting her footsteps. So far she was up to 5283 steps. It wasn't the most amusing way to keep herself occupied but it was something. She watched her steps, keeping an eye out for another snack or a dead one still kicking on the ground.

5467, 5468, 5469, 5470, 5471, 5472, 547 –

She froze when she met the edge of the trees. It had been a long time since she had been out in the open, out of the trees. Slowly she made her way down the hill, stopping at the train tracks, tapping her toe against the metal. Again, she looked in both directions. She could see a rusted building about another mile down; nothing else in the other direction. It was possible that she might find some supplies in the building . . . or a horde of monsters. To take the chance or not to take the chance. The sun was slowly getting lower in the sky. Soon it would be dark and she needed a place to stay.

Before she had a chance to move, a sound made her freeze once again, one that she hadn't heard in a long time.

Voices.

Ophelia's heart skipped into her throat. People, strangers. Men. They'd take what she had, everything that she had worked so hard to collect. The voices were coming from just above her, where she had just come from. How close had they come to finding her? Had they been near the tree she slept in? Not really wanting to get the answers, she looked for a place to hide in her immediate area but by the time she made it up the slope on the other side, they would be upon her. She took off at a sprint towards the abandoned building, her backpack bouncing. A monster came snarling towards her but Ophelia darted around it, hoping that the men coming would be enough to distract it from her.

She hid behind the building just as the first of the men came into view. All of them looked rough and tough, holding various weapons. The new world made men tough, worse than they were before; Ophelia had seen it in action. She wouldn't put herself in a position like that again, she couldn't.

The monster heard the men and started in their direction instead. She watched from her hiding spot as three of the men killed it, almost playing with it. When it was dead they continued in her direction, the eldest of the group pointing towards the building.

There were too many of them, at least twelve. There was no way she'd be able to take them all on, even if she were a skilled fighter. They'd probably make their way around the building to scout it and find her then. But she was fast. If she waited until they were closer, she might be able to shoot past them. It was risky, but again, she was willing to try it rather than let them catch her.

She waited until most of them were at the building, knocking on the walls, trying to call out the undead. She took several breaths before she rushed out.

"Whoa!"

"What was that!"

Some of the men jumped down from the platform they were on, hurrying towards her. A couple more men jumped down in front of her and she scuttled backwards, tripping over the train tracks, landing on her backpack. Before she knew it, she was surrounded, stuck in a circle of men on the train tracks.

"What do we have here?" Ophelia looked up, her eyes catching a younger man's in a leather jacket and a ragged shirt. He smirked down at her, pleasantly surprised. "Jackpot."

He took a step towards her, reaching, but Ophelia jumped to her feet and smacked his hand away, raising her fists, with her knife clenched in one hand. She wasn't much of a fighter but she be damned if she didn't go down swinging. The man in front of her grinned while the others laughed, hooting and hollering. "Feisty, ain't ya girl! That's alright. Makes you that much more fun to break," he added in a whisper, taking a step towards her.

"Claimed."

* * *

Daryl didn't like the way Chet was looking at the girl in between them, nothing in his leer but lust. The girl was trembling but she looked ready to fight, or at least try. He didn't know the girl at all but he couldn't only imagine what Chet would do to her if he did nothing.

Now Chet was glaring at him, gaze fierce. The girl was watching him as well, whiskey colored eyes narrowed. Her hair was just a wild mess of black curls, hanging low over her eyes, her brown skin made even darker by dirt and grime. She had been out here a long time, he could tell, lost and malnourished. There were dark circles under her eyes, like she hadn't slept properly in days. She couldn't have been much younger than him but standing there now, surrounded by all of them, she looked like a kid, terrified and trapped.

Daryl looked over his shoulder at Joe. "That's how it works, right? I called 'claimed'. That means she's mine."

Joe chuckled. "He's got ya there, Chet. Leave the girl be. She belongs to Daryl."

With that, the older man turned, walking back towards the building he decided they would sleep in. After a second, Chet followed, shooting another glare at Daryl as everyone fell in line, entering the building. The girl stayed where she was, knife pointed at him now. He could let her go, tell her to run but he could see some of the men still watching them. They'd kill them both if he didn't get his shit together. Carefully, Daryl walked towards her and held out his hand, waiting. There were angry tears in her eyes as she placed the handle in his open palm. When they got some time alone, he'd explain everything to her but for right now, best to keep up appearances. With his free hand, he gently gripped the back of her neck, leading her after the other men.

By the time the entered the building, filled with old rusted cars, parts and tools, the men had made sure the area was clear. Keeping the girl close to him, Daryl shut the sliding door.

"They ain't here," said a man Daryl believed was called Jack. "Nobody's been here for a while. Whoever was they got all the gas."

"That don't matter," Joe answered. "We're getting closer. I can feel it."

With that the men started walking around, moving things out of the way, 'claiming' shit. Daryl kept his hand on the back of the girl's neck as they walked through the room, trying to find a place for them to rest tonight but all the cars were soon claimed. Finally, he settled on a corner rather than a car, laying his stuff down and gesturing for her to do the same.

"This'll be our spot," he told her. She glared down at it before looking back up at him, arms crossed. He nodded towards the door. "I got to take a piss."

She made a disgusted face, but followed him any way as he walked out of the carport, clutching the straps of her backpack. He walked up to a tree and grabbed at his zipper, looking out the corner of his eye as she turned her back, staying within his sights. She could have run but she stood there, waiting. "Name's Daryl."

She didn't speak, unmoving. He couldn't blame her. She didn't understand it yet, but he knew well enough that if he hadn't claimed her for himself, one of the other guys would and she would be worse off. He finished up and turned towards her, crossing his arms as well. "Ya got a name?"

Still no answer.

"Looks like ya been out there alone for a while."

She turned slightly towards him at that, peering at him over her shoulder.

"Yer're safe now," he muttered, taking a step towards her. "Ain't none of them gonna touch ya."

At that, she scoffed, turning fully and meeting his eye. "You took my knife."

Her voice was soft, raspy from what he thought might be a lack of use, but it was a start. "Yea, well, I don't trust ya not to stab me in my sleep."

She took a breath, glaring back towards the carport. "What's this 'claimed' bullshit?"

"It's a rule their leader came up with. Ya claim it, it's yers. No one else can have it. Ya own it."

"You don't own me," she answered quickly, that steely glare back.

"Damn straight I don't," he responded, surprising her. "Don't wantcha either. But yer're lucky. These other guys ain't exactly friendly."

"And you are?" The conversation was strangely reminiscent of the one he had just had with Joe outside the carport.

"I'm the best yer're gonna get out of this bunch." He thought he saw her shiver, looking around the trees. He continued to watch her for a moment, taking in how worn down she looked. He was surprised that she hadn't tried to make a run for it, but he thought she might have realized she wouldn't make it very far. "Where were ya headed?"

She shook her head, squeezing her backpack tighter. "Nowhere."

"Ya got a group out there? People lookin' for ya?"

"I hope not."

Daryl decided not to ask her what she meant, not just yet. He shrugged. "I've got people out there. This group, they ain't mine. We're just headed in the same direction. I got someone I got to find."

The girl in front of him met his eyes again. "That's not an easy thing to do nowadays."

"You lose someone too?"

She hesitated before shaking her head. "We didn't – they were somewhere else. I don't know what's happened to them."

"How long you've been out there alone?"

Quietly, she reached inside that backpack of hers and pulled out what looked like a small notebook. As she flipped through it, Daryl realized it was a pocket calendar. She stopped on a page. "I don't really know what day it is. I took a guess. It feels like October. If that's true, I've been a little over a month. I'm not helpless," she told him, at his quirked eyebrow. "I stayed low, avoided people. I'm resourceful."

"I can tell. . . . Let's head back," he said, gesturing to the carport. He started walking, noticing she wasn't moving. "You comin'?"

"What would happen," she asked as she stuffed her calendar back in her bag, "if I left?"

Daryl stuck his hands in his pockets, shrugging. "They'd probably come after ya. Might beat me up for lettin' ya go. Besides, ya got anywhere ta go?"

The girl hesitated before she followed him. By the time they got back to the carport, everyone had settled down, some of the men asleep in the cars they had claimed while others ate from their stash in corners. Daryl and the girl walked back to their spot where he gestured between the wall and where he planned to lay down. If anyone tried to get to her, they'd have to get past him first. She seemed to understand this, though she moved warily, keeping an eye on him. Finally, she settled down, pulling a blanket from her backpack before settling the bag under her head. "Night."

She didn't respond as first, her back to him but he heard her sigh. "Ophelia."

A slight lift came to the corner of his mouth, as he settled on his back, his bag under his head and his arm over his eyes.

* * *

"You've got to be kidding me. . . . Christ."

They hadn't been lying down long, Ophelia thought, or at least it hadn't felt like it. She sat up as Daryl did, this scruffy looking man walking towards them, his hand out. "Give it here."

"You step back," Daryl told him, his voice a low warning.

"My half was in the bag," the man said. "Now it's gone. Now ain't nobody around here interested in no half a damn cottontail except you. Ain't that right? You take it so you can share it with that bitch of yours?"

Daryl stood up as the man got closer and Ophelia followed, not quite sure what she would do if these men attacked Daryl. "Yer're the only one still thinkin' about that crap."

"Empty your bag."

"I said step back!" Daryl repeated, grabbing up his stuff.

Ophelia took a stepped back as an older man walked towards them. He eyed Daryl a moment before he snatched away the garbage bag. "Did you take his rabbit, Daryl? Just tell me the truth."

"I didn't take nothin'," Daryl argued.

"What do we got here . . . come on." The old man dumped everything out of the bag, shaking it for show. All of Daryl's things clattered to the ground, including both halves of a dead rabbit. "Well look at that."

Daryl looked up at the other man, his glare fierce. "Ya put that there didn't ya? When I went out to take a piss!"

"You lied," the man said.

"Didn't you?"

"You lied. You stole!" the man pushed Daryl back from him, turning to the older man. "We gonna teach this fool or what, Joe?"

"Whoa, whoa," the old man – Joe – stepped forward between the two man. "Now Daryl says he didn't take your half of the rabbit. So we got a little conundrum here. Either he's lying. Which is an actionable offense or," Joe paused, laughing as he faced the other man, "you didn't plant it on him like some pussy punk ass cheating coward cop, did you? 'Cause while that wouldn't be specifically breaking the rules, it'd be disappointing."

"It would."

"Mhmm."

"I didn't."

"Good." Joe turned towards Daryl after patting the other man on his arm. Ophelia tensed up, realizing that all the other men had gathered around them, preparing herself for the worse. She didn't know Daryl from Adam but, if he got hurt, or worse, where did that leave her? "Well. . . ."

Ophelia jumped as he spun quickly and punched the other man in the face, sending him to the floor. and punches Len sending the man to the floor. "Teach him a lesson gents. He's a lying sack of shit. I'm sick of it. Teach him all the way."

The other men pounced, kicking and punching. Ophelia hovered behind Daryl, not quite sure what to do as her gaze stuck on the men beating the man on the floor. One man's boot came away with blood on it. Joe turned to Daryl, a smirk on his face. "I saw him do it."

"Why didn't you try to stop him?"

"He wanted to play that out. I let him. You told the truth. He lied. You understand the rules. He doesn't." Joe picked up the rabbit, handing it to Daryl. "Looks like you get the head too. Put some meat on her bones," he added, gesturing towards Ophelia.

Daryl kneeled down to pick up his things while Ophelia moved back to her backpack, sitting with her back to the violence. She pulled the beanie from her backpack, pulling it over her head, making her curls cover her ears to block out some of the noise; the hits were starting to sound wet and she was sure she heard something crack.

Something dropped on top of her head and she glanced up to her blanket, now covering her. She could hear Daryl shuffling behind her, laying down. That said a lot, she realized, the fact that he didn't join in, beating this man to death.

Not that that made her trust him any more.

* * *

 **A/N: Soooooo I know. I shouldn't start another story but that's what you get when get plot bunnies. Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!**


	2. We

**Disclaimer: I do not own the world of Walking Dead or its characters.**

* * *

"Wake up. We're movin' out."

Ophelia rolled over, pulling her blanket off her head. She had slept like the dead, which was saying something. It had been a long time since she had slept somewhere that wasn't a tree or a dirty ditch. Daryl was gathering his things together and Ophelia quietly berated herself for sleeping so soundly. She wasn't safe. She didn't know this man. . . .

But if she was being honest, part of her knew she didn't have to worry. If Daryl had wanted to hurt her, or let the others hurt her, he would have done so by now.

Ophelia sat up, pulling out two apples as she stuffed her blanket and hat into her backpack. Everyone was packing up their things, cleaning out the cars. The man they had beaten last night was gone but there was blood on the floor where he had lain. She stared at it a moment until Daryl stepped in her line of sight, his hand held out. "Ya ready?"

She stood on her own, hoisting her backpack on her back. She placed one of her apples in Daryl's outstretched hand, meeting his eyes. In the brighter light, she took him in. He was a good foot taller than her, but that wasn't something entirely new; Ophelia had always been short. He had this sort of wild edge to him, in the way he stood, in the way he held the crossbow on his back, his bluish green eyes a bit squinty but alert, hair scraggly. He was a redneck if she ever saw one, but she thought that might be an unfair judgement. If she was going to be stuck with him for a bit (until she could figure out how to get her knife and get as far away from them a she could) she might as well be nice.

He seemed to understand that the apple was her way of saying thanks as he nodded, taking a bite from it as he turned and led the way out of the carport, juice dribbling down his chin. Ophelia followed him slowly, one hand gripping onto her backpack strap again as she bit into her own apple. By the time she got outside Daryl was standing next to a bloody and broken body, an arrow sticking out of its eye. Daryl had picked up a tarp but he tossed it back on the ground, starting after the group.

"What was his name?" Ophelia asked, causing Daryl to stop walking, turning to face her with a frown.

"What's it matter?" Ophelia shrugged but she didn't move from her spot. Daryl sighed. "Len. He don't deserve no kindness," he added when she bent to pick up the tarp he had abandoned.

"Who does?" she responded, laying the tarp across the man. In the few minutes she had known Len, he had been an asshole, called her out of her name, tried to get Daryl beaten up or worse. . . . But he had probably been someone's asshole, at the very least, someone's son. Nobody just deserved to be left on the ground if you could help it.

When she looked up, Daryl was watching her with the most curious expression. Shaking his head, he walked off again, leaving her to follow behind him and the group. She dropped her partially eaten apple back in her backpack, her appetite suddenly gone.

* * *

Ophelia walked a few feet behind Joe and Daryl as they continued across a field towards another set of train tracks. The older man thrived in this kind of environment, she could tell, heard him even mention as much to Daryl. She supposed he had a point. Trackers, hunters, survivalist . . . it was like the apocalypse had been made for them, to weed out the weak like her. Ophelia had grown up in a gated community, gone to a good college, gotten a degree, worked in an office with business casual attire and everything. She had never gone camping, never knew what it meant to survive for a few days or more without food. She hadn't been prepared. Joe and Daryl were the kings to her pauper in this type of world.

Joe cast a glance back at her before looking back at Daryl. "You ain't worried she's gonna run off on you?"

Daryl looked back at her, his expression blank. "I've got her knife and she don't really got any other place to go."

Ophelia glared at him as he turned back around. Playing a part or not, screw him. She survived for three days before she even found that knife. Honestly, she could probably take off right now. Varsity Track had to pay off for something, right? But her feet wouldn't let her run. As terrifying as it was to be the only female in a group of men in this day in age, she was tired of being alone, tired of talking to ghosts. As soon as they found another group or she could figure out a direction that seemed best, she'd leave. But for now, she'd trust Daryl a little while longer and avoid Chet and his wandering eyes.

The group reached the train tracks, a sign sticking up from the dirt.

"Getting closer," one of the men mumbled.

Daryl walked up to the sign and Ophelia stopped beside him, reading it quickly.

 **Terminus,** it read, **Sanctuary for All.**

"You seen this before?" Daryl asked Joe, gesturing towards the sign.

"Oh yea," Joe answered, sardonically. "I'll tell you what it is. It's a lie. Ain't no sanctuary for all. Ain't gonna welcome guys like you and me with open arms."

The older man followed the rest of his group down the tracks, Daryl quickening his pace to walk alongside him again, Ophelia falling in behind. "So is that where we're headed?" Daryl asked.

"So now you're asking?" Joe responded with a chuckle.

"That's right."

"We were in a house minding our own business," Joe started, "and this walking piece of fecal matter was hiding in the home. Strangled our colleague Lou and left him to turn. Lou came at all of us. He lit out. We tracked him to these tracks, one of those signs, and thus we've got a destination in mind."

"You see his face?"

"Only Tony." Joe gestured to the man walking in front of them with the giant gun resting on his shoulder. "That's enough for a reckoning."

Tony stopped, and Ophelia felt her heart clench for whoever it was they were tracking. Even if what they had done was in self-defense, she couldn't imagine this group taking it easy on them. Daryl's eyes caught onto whatever Tony had seen and he darted forward. "Claimed."

He gripped up whatever had been on the ground and brushed it off. Tony walked off, disappointed. Joe grinned and followed after the group again. Daryl came to stand next to her, holding out a purplish object to her. "Mushroom," he offered by way of explanation.

Ophelia thought this might be his way of apologizing for his comment early. Hesitantly she took it, taking a bite. It wasn't the most pleasant thing she had ever eaten but all she had had recently was a bit of that apple so it was better than nothing. She handed it back to him as they kept walking, watching him take a bite as well. She pulled her hair tie out of her pocket, pulling her hair into a messy bun on top of her head, zipping up her jacket against the breeze. Again, she glanced over at Daryl, watching the way he kept a wary eye on the men in front of them. He trusted them just about as much as she did.

"How long are we gonna stay with them?" she asked in a hushed voice. It occurred to her that she had said 'we' but that's what it was. They would split from the men and then, soon after, she would split from Daryl, keep trekking on her own.

"Not much longer," Daryl responded, not acknowledging the pronoun she used. "I ain't for stickin' around to see what they do to the son of a bitch who killed their friend."

They continued to walk, for what seemed like hours, while the sun got lower and lower in the sky. Even traveling by herself, Ophelia was used to stopping once the sun started to set, finding the closest thing to shelter. The night was scary; the dead could sneak up on you easier at night. After a moment of walking, Joe motioned for some of his group to go into the woods, quick and quiet, to see if they spotted anything while the rest of them sat down on the train tracks. Ophelia made sure to stick close to Daryl, too nervous to eat or even rest her eyes like he had suggested.

A rustling in the trees had them all scuttling to their feet. One of Joe's men appeared, a wild grin on his face. Joe nodded, turning to the rest of them, a manic gleam in his eye. "Let's go meet that piece of shit."

Joe and his men started into the woods, spreading out so that they could form a circle around the poor bastard. Daryl didn't move, so neither did Ophelia. "What are you doin'?" she asked.

He tightened his grip on his crossbow, before looking back at her. "We should leave."

There was that word again, 'we'. "Then why aren't we?"

Daryl shook his head. "We ain't gonna make it out here, just the two of us. We need them till I find my people."

"Screw that," Ophelia argued. "I was just fine on my own before I ran into all of you. I'll still be fine," she added, holding out her hand, "once you give me my knife."

Daryl stared at her for a moment before he removed the knife from his belt loop, holding it out to her. When she reached for it though, he snatched it back, glaring right back at her. "How much longer do ya think you'll be fine out here by yerself? Couple o' days? Another week? Aren't ya tired of bein' alone?"

"You can't trust people," she told him, angrily. "They're worse than the monsters."

"Not my people. Not us."

"Why do you care what I do? You don't even know me."

"I ain't for losin' people. Not anymore. Not if I can help it."

He started into woods, still holding on to Ophelia's knife and she was forced to follow him, more confused than she had been when they first met. Why was he being so adamant? She could survive on her own, hadn't she proved that? What was worse was that he was right. She craved company as much as she craved food and water these days. But the monsters were terrifying, people were worse. At least with walkers, you knew what they wanted. People could turn on you in a snap. . . . Daryl didn't seem like that though. She had trusted him to watch her back while she slept the night before, trusted him to keep Chet away from her. . . . Since he still had her only weapon, she supposed she was going to have to trust him a little further.

Ophelia could hear Joe's voice as she and Daryl moved quietly through the woods. He sounded delighted, which meant that they must have found the person who killed Lou. She saw the old beat up station wagon first, a few of Joe's men standing on either side of it, one of them pressed up against the window. Then she saw Joe, his gun pressed to the temple of a scruffy man in a brown leather jacket. A woman with dreads was on her knees next to him, another of Joe's men standing over her with her own gun.

"Ten Mississippi," Joe was counting. "Nine Mississippi. Eight Mississippi –"

"Joe!" Daryl called out suddenly, walking forward slowly. "Hold up."

Joe leveled a glare in Daryl's direction. "You're stopping me on eight, Daryl."

There was a long tense silence as Daryl continued to move forward, the people on their knees watching him, and Ophelia came to the sickening realization that this must be the people he had been looking for. What a weird twist of fate. She moved forward too until she was standing next to the driver's window. Movement made her turn her head and she could see the fat guy in Joe's group leering at the person inside, a boy who couldn't be older than maybe eleven.

These people were insane.

"Just hold up," Daryl tried again and Ophelia had to give him credit for how calm he sounded, despite the adrenaline-charged situation.

"This is the guy that killed Lou," the man pointing the gun at the woman said, "So we got nothing to talk about."

"The thing about nowadays is we got nothing but time," Joe responded. "Say your piece, Daryl."

"These people, you're gonna let 'em go. These are good people."

"Now, I think Lou would disagree with you on that. I'll, of course, have to speak for him and all 'cause your friend here strangled him in a bathroom."

"You want blood, I get it." Daryl took one more step forward and then set down his crossbow. Standing up straight, he held up his hands in surrender. "Take it from me, man. Come on."

Joe stared at Daryl in disbelief. "This man killed our friend. You say he's good people. See, now that right there is a lie. It's a lie!"

The man standing closest to Daryl knocked him in the side of his head with the butt of his rifle, sending Daryl into the hood of the car. Ophelia heard the man, Daryl's friend yell for him as she did something she never thought she'd do: she ran to help. Despite not having a weapon, despite all of these men being much bigger than her, she'd be damned if she let them beat up on the only person who had shown her a lick of kindness.

She didn't make it far; someone grabbed her backpack, ripping it off of her before a pair of arms wrapped around her, grabbing her wrists and pinning her arms to her chest. She didn't have to look to know it was Chet. She struggled and squirmed but Chet was a big guy. "Let go!"

"Teach him, fellas!" Joe yelled as two of his men beat Daryl down to the ground. "Teach him all the way."

Ophelia heard the car door open and she looked over as the boy was yanked out of the car by the fat guy who had been leering at him. She watched in horror as he was pushed to the ground, the man holding him there.

"You leave him be!" Daryl's friend shouted and Ophelia felt another sick twist to her stomach when she realized that must be his son.

"Shh," Joe said, forcing the man to stay on his knees. "You'll get yours."

"Listen. It was me. It was just me."

"See, now that's right. That's not some damn lie. Look, we can settle this," Joe said in a much calmer voice. "We're reasonable men. First, we're gonna beat Daryl to death. Then we'll have the girl. Then the boy. Then I'm gonna shoot you and then we'll be square."

"What about this girl?" Chet asked giving Ophelia a little shake.

Joe looked up at them, a slight smirk on his face. "Daryl ain't got a claim on shit anymore. For all I care, she's yours."

"Sounds about right." Ophelia screamed as Chet gripped her harder, lifting her up so that the toes of her shoes just brushed against the ground.

"Daryl!" she yelled, knowing there wasn't anything he could do for her, not while those men kept punching and kicking him. The brush around them got thicker as Chet walked a few more paces, Ophelia kicking the whole time.

She yelled out when he threw her the ground, trying to scramble away when he gripped both her ankles, flipping her over and pulling her back towards him. "None of that, ya hear," he said, laughing as he hovered over her.

 _Hot breath on her face._

 _Groping hands._

 _Cruel Laughter._

 _Make it stop. Make it STOP. MAKE IT STOP!_

She was crying and struggling and her hand, in her flailing landed on a something smooth and hard and sharp. She grabbed it up, not caring about how it dug into the wrap around her hand as she swung, smashing the rock into the side of Chet's head. Dazed, he reeled back and Ophelia pushed him over, straddling him as she brought the rock down on his face again and again and again.

She was a survivor.

"Ophelia."

She was not some man's plaything.

"Ophelia, he's done."

She was not weak. She was not weak. She was NOT WEAK!

Hands gripped her wrists, holding them above her head. She tried to jerk away but they held fast, causing her to look back. Daryl looked down at her, jaw tight. He was bloody, one eye slightly swollen, the other set on her. She must have looked a sight; she could feel that her hair had fallen out of her bun, her eyes were wide and wild. She must look like an animal. Slowly, she turned her head back around, to see what she had done. He wasn't moving, Chet, his body still underneath her. The first two hits might have done him in but Ophelia kept going. There was very little recognizable about his face, save a tooth or two, an eye.

Ophelia scrambled to her feet, out of Daryl's grasp, bracing herself against a tree as she vomited, mostly just stomach acid and bits of mushroom. She could feel herself shaking, her breath coming out in raged breaths and she knew she could not afford a panic attack right then. In her head, she listed off every book she could remember reading, even the kiddie ones, until the panic subsided, leaving her still shaking but more or less calm.

Turning back around, Ophelia found Daryl still standing there, watching her. She chanced another glance at Chet but didn't let her gaze linger too long. "I shouldn't have –"

"Don't," Daryl stopped her. "Don't ya apologize or regret killin' that bastard, ya hear me?"

Easier said than done but Ophelia didn't feel like arguing. She nodded, removing the wraps around her hands. Most of the blood went with the wraps but her hands were still stained red. She rubbed them on her pants, knowing it wouldn't work. She looked up at Daryl, avoiding looking over at Chet. "You came for me."

"I wasn't gonna leave ya' out here with him."

Ophelia wrapped her arms around her middle. She looked down at her tennis shoes before looking back up at Daryl, trying to hold back the tears, but they slid down her face anyway. She was just as much a monster as the ones walking around. When did she become like this? She had killed someone with her bare hands, hands that she used to create. What was this world doing to her? "I'm tired of being alone," she whispered, answering his question from earlier.

Daryl nodded. He cast a glance back towards the clearing where his people were waiting for him. "Ya don't have to keep bein' by yerself."

She hesitated, gripping onto the sides of her shirt. "Your friends don't know me. You don't know me."

"We'll get ta know ya." Daryl held out his hand towards her and Ophelia supposed the conversation was done, the decision made for her. She was starting to get used to that already. Casting one more glance at Chet, she placed her hand in his, letting him pull her back to his friends.

The woman with dreads was waiting for them when they got there. She was very fierce looking and probably just as fierce if that katana at her side said anything. She watched Ophelia warily, arms crossed.

"Michonne," Daryl said, gesturing to the woman. "Ophelia. She weren't no friend of theirs," he added as an afterthought.

Michonne continued to stare at her. She looked to Daryl but it was another moment before she spoke. "How many walkers have you killed?"

"Oh." Ophelia was startled by the topic and looked down for a second to think before she looked up at Michonne again. "A handful. I usually avoid places where I'd run into too many."

"How many people have you killed?"

Ophelia swallowed the lump in her throat. "One."

"Why?"

She couldn't form a coherent sentence for that one. Though it was in self-defense, that didn't make the knowing easier.

Daryl and Michonne must have had a silent conversation while her head was down because she felt a hand land on her shoulder. Michonne gestured towards the car. "You can get some rest in the back of the wagon. It looks like you could use it. Daryl's going to keep your knife though. I'm sure you understand."

Ophelia could do nothing more than nod. She left the two of them, heading for the back of the car, picking up her backpack on the way. The boy must have been in there too because there was no sight of him. On her way, she past the man; his mouth and hands were bloody and he had this haunted look in his eyes as he stared off into space. Ophelia shivered and hurried past him, climbing into the trunk and pulling down the hatch. It was quiet in the car as she curled up into the corner. Her body instantly tried to relax, even though her mind was racing, her limbs felt like led.

Guess she was going to be with Daryl just a little while longer.


	3. Terminus

**Disclaimer: I do not own the world of Walking Dead or its characters.**

 **A/N: Whoa! Thank you so much for the response to this story! I really wasn't expecting that. That being said, s/o to the following readers: Pantherlette086, bullybullet6, marvelheroes, keikokid, Cameja333, XXArmageddonXX, restay, NerdyWordyPrincess, louise53, Thetroublewithexes, felicia2235, Sharin Cole, Moony and Pads, Heidi191976, Ravenclaw Slytherin, shadowbella987, DreamersChance, enchantmentanjel, itsreagannn, HorrorFan13, bellaphant, Onule, Kleo Drako, WheresMyBones, StephJ, kotono3, and ilikeballons! You all are so amazing!**

* * *

Ophelia rolled over onto her back, arching up and sighing in relief when she felt the pop. She stared up at the ceiling of the station wagon, trying for a brief second, to remember where she was. The night before came back to her and she closed her eyes again.

She knew she shouldn't regret it, but the fact that she had killed someone was gnawing at her. That wasn't the kind of person she was . . . but that was the world they lived in now. Dog eat dog. Kill or be killed. Survival of the fittest. Daryl's group was lucky to have him, considering how well he seemed to manage all this.

She could hear him now, talking outside of the car to the man who had been covered in blood. She tried to ignore them but then she heard the man bring her up to Daryl.

"Who is she?"

"Name's Ophelia. Ran into her while I was with them guys. She's been alone fer a while."

"How long?"

"'Bout a month. Little over."

"She say where she came from?"

"Nah. I didn't wanna ask. I barely got her ta tell me her name."

"Hmm. You trust her?"

Daryl didn't speak at first and Ophelia couldn't really blame him. She hadn't exactly been very forthcoming about her past, not that it was something she liked to share. She wouldn't blame him if he said no.

"I think we can trust her," Daryl told the man. "She's . . . lost. She won't make it very far on her own."

Ophelia curled in on herself, wrapping her arms around her knees. Not a lie. She was very, very lost, wandering the state and getting nowhere. She probably wouldn't make it much farther. She was starting to realize that the bloody man was the one in charge, the one Daryl looked to. What if he decided she couldn't stay with them? Where would she go?

"You have to keep an eye on her," the man told Daryl.

Daryl grunted an affirmative and Ophelia tried not to cry.

She had a group.

At least for now.

* * *

When she heard Michonne climb out of the car, Ophelia pushed open the back and clambered out. Daryl was waiting for her, leaning against the side of the car, hands in his pockets. "Sleep alright?"

"Yes. Thank you," she murmured, unzipping her backpack. She pulled out the bag of apples; there were five left.

Ophelia turned to Daryl, handing him one of the apples. He took it, closing the trunk and nodding his head towards Michonne, the kid and his dad. Taking a breath, Ophelia hoisted her backpack onto her back, following Daryl to his friends. "Um. Thank you," she said again, holding out the bag of apples to Michonne.

Michonne, watching her warily, took the bag from her. She turned to the man at her side and they made eye contact, Michonne nodding. The man stepped forward, holding out his hand. "My name's Rick. That's my son, Carl. You already met Michonne."

She took his hand, shaking it. "Ophelia."

Rick nodded, casting a glance at Daryl who hadn't left Ophelia's side, for which she was grateful; Rick was proving to be a little intimidating, even without being covered in blood. "Daryl tells me you've had a rough go."

"Who hasn't?" Ophelia asked, raising one shoulder.

"Yeah." Rick placed his hand on his hips. "You tried to help last night; I saw that. I appreciate it."

"It was the least I could do. Daryl watched my back with those guys."

"He's good for that." Rick looked up at the sky, squinting. "We should get a move on if we're gonna get to Terminus."

"What's Terminus?"

For the first time, Rick cracked a slight smile. "A safe place."

Carl and Daryl walked on either side of Ophelia as they made their way down the train tracks. They all walked in silence, each in their own thoughts, though she could hear Michonne and Rick muttering to each other. She wasn't actually sure where they were headed; she had never heard of this Terminus place, in all her time alone, but she could tell that Rick was really hoping for something from that place. Whether it was actually there, she supposed they would find out sooner or later.

A tug on the back of her jacket. She looked down, meeting Carl's eyes. "Thanks. For the apple," he said.

Hearing his voice now she could tell he wasn't much of a kid, probably more like thirteen or fourteen, but still young enough to put a small smile on her face. "Sure thing. I, uh, have some turkey meat in my pack if you're still hungry. I don't know how good it is."

Carl smiled at her. "That's okay."

Whatever the rest of their conversation would have been, it was interrupted by Rick veering off to the side of the tracks. A sign sat there, covered in leaves and dirt. Daryl, Carl, and Ophelia approached, standing next to Rick and Michonne. "We're getting close," Rick said.

"Be there before sundown," Daryl agreed.

"No. We head through the woods. We don't know who they are."

"All right."

Ophelia tightened her grip on her backpack straps as she followed the group into the trees. She had never really traveled with a group this big, especially not through the woods where it was easier to make a lot of noise. Daryl was the only one who seemed know how to move quietly, his feet barely making a sound as he took the lead, crossbow at ready. Ophelia felt very insecure with no weapon, the sun getting lower in the sky.

It was about ten minutes before Daryl was directing their attention to the fence in front of them. They all approached quickly, peering through the gate. You couldn't see much with the brush; just the top of a building.

"We all spread out," Rick told them, his voice low, "watch for a while, see what we see, and get ready. We all stay close."

Everyone nodded, Michonne and Carl moving in one direction while Daryl motioned for Ophelia to follow him, handing her back her knife. "Yer gonna need it."

Ophelia took it, holding it so that she was ready to fight anything that came her way. She walked slightly behind Daryl keeping an eye on the fence and the building just below the hill. There was nothing moving and for a moment she worried that maybe there was no one there at all. That worry turned to hope. With the fences, they could make a safe place, have somewhere to sleep.

"You alright?"

She turned down her thoughts and met Daryl's quick glance that he gave her over his shoulder. "I'm fine."

There was another pause in which Daryl jiggled his crossbow. "Wanna talk 'bout it?"

Ophelia scoffed. "You don't seem like the talking type."

He shot her a glare. "I'm bein' nice."

"I realized." They walked a bit more, Ophelia tapping her fingers against her leg. A part of her didn't want to relive her past while another part wanted to drop to her knees, cry and scream. Here was Daryl, offering her a chance to let some of that go. "I – killed a guy."

"Yea, ya did."

"I – he reminded me of someone. . . . From my old group."

Daryl slowed a bit so that the two of them were walking next to each other. "What happened to 'em?"

"I don't know. They could be dead. They could be looking for me. I ran away. . . . We all – we all started this new life together and – and then things went south. You don't know people like you think you know people. This new world . . . it makes people think they can do whatever they want, to whoever they want," she finished in a whisper.

Adam had been his name, which Ophelia had always thought was kind of poetic, considering he had been dubbed their leader at the beginning of this new world. He had been kind, established an old store for them all to live in, the gates keeping out the monsters. He would bring back people, women with kids, men who were lost. It was nice . . . at first.

He changed. It took a while (what had it been, a year? At least). He became a dictator of sorts, demanded shares of everything for allowing them to live in the store. When this all started, Ophelia wasn't much of a scavenger so – so he took what he thought was the only thing she could give him. The first time, she fought and she cried and he slapped her and after that she would just lie there.

Five times.

One night, something snapped inside her. She packed her trusty backpack and she ran. She ran and ran and didn't stop until she had put at least ten miles between the safe house and the store. She thought herself to hunt and to hide and to survive and she vowed to never, _ever,_ feel that weak again.

Though she hadn't given Daryl the whole story, Ophelia knew he was smart enough to put two and two together. She could see the anger in his clenched jaw and it warmed her heart a bit. He still barely knew her but he was kind enough to be angry for her. He faced her, eyes serious as he met her gaze. "We ain't like that."

A slight smile came to her face and she nodded. "I realized."

Daryl nodded back and they continued to walk. It wasn't exactly a heart-to-heart and that wasn't what Ophelia wanted anyway. She'd need a psychiatrist to truly get over all her deep-seated issues but it felt like a weight had been lifted. At the store, she hadn't told any of the other women what had happened to her; she already knew they didn't like her, thought she got special privileges or something, maybe even thought she was with Adam willingly. It felt good to tell someone and have them understand.

Ophelia walked with Daryl as they made their way back to Rick. They found the sheriff burying the duffel bag of guns in the ground, placing his extra weapons inside. He looked up at the two of them. "Just in case."

He leaned to the side to gather some dirt before he stopped, reaching back into the duffel bag to pull out a gun. Hesitantly he turned and held it out to Ophelia. She froze, eyes wide but he just pushed the gun in her direction. "You're gonna need somethin' better than that knife if we're going in their blind. You know how to work one of these."

Ophelia clipped her knife to her belt loop, wrapping her fingers around the gun. "I'm a quick study."

Rick went back to covering the duffel bag with dirt. Daryl turned to Ophelia. "Practice yer grip."

She held the gun out in front of her with both hands, arms straight. Daryl shook his head. "Loosen up. Yer gonna hurt yerself like that."

By the time Daryl deemed her grip appropriate, Michonne and Carl had returned. The duffel bag buried, Rick led them over to the fence. "We move quick and quiet."

He went first, climbing up and over. Michonne followed, then Carl, and then Ophelia, Daryl coming over last and then taking the lead with Rick as they ran towards the nearest building, Michonne withdrawing her katanna. Carl and Ophelia were in the rear, guns pointed down low. Ophelia made sure Carl was just slightly in front of her, feeling a strange sense of protectiveness for this little boy she didn't really know.

The five of them ducked next to a building, Rick pulling open the door and Daryl darting in, crossbow at ready. Michonne, Carl and Ophelia followed, Ophelia's ears tuning in to the sound of a voice echoing off the walls.

" – where all lines intersect."

They hurried down a dark hallway, trying to be as quick and quiet as Rick had told them to be but Ophelia imagined that would be impossible with two of them, let alone five. She thought her heartbeat was loud enough to hear, bouncing off the walls.

They came to an open room, desks scattered about and a map hung up on the wall. Underneath the map sat a woman, the voice from the hallway, speaking into a radio microphone. "—there are maps at the crossings to help you find your way. Those who arrive survive. Terminus, sanctuary for all. Community for all."

Daryl gestured for them all the enter and Rick walked past him, moving towards the woman. As Ophelia entered the room, she noticed more people moving around, all of them with maps and papers, like this was some sort of command center.

"Hello," Rick spoke, interrupting the woman's broadcast.

She looked up, taking off her headphones.

"Hello," he said again, getting everyone's attention.

A younger man in a ratty coat with short dark hair sighed, looking frustrated. "Well, I bet Albert is on perimeter watch."

A girl at a table with paint and signs gave a slight smile as the man walked towards them. Ophelia tightened her grip on her gun, something she was sure he noticed. "You here to rob us?"

"No." Rick holstered his gun, walking forward a few paces. "We wanted to see you before you saw us."

"Makes sense." The man continued towards them. "Usually we do this where the tracks meet. Welcome to Terminus. I'm Gareth. Looks like you've been on the road for a good bit."

"We have. Rick. That's Carl, Daryl, Michonne, Ophelia."

Gareth gave them a short wave. "You're nervous. I get were all the same way. We came here for sanctuary. That what you're here for?"

"Yes."

"Good. You found it. Hey, Alex." Another young man with a bright smile and dark facial hair walked towards them, hand up in greeting. "This isn't as pretty as the front. We got nothing to hide, but welcome wagon is a whole lot nicer. Alex will take you, ask you a few questions. Uh, but first, we need to see everyone's weapons. If you could just lay them down in front of you."

There was a brief moment of hesitation where they, Ophelia's new group, all looked to Rick, waiting for his signal. Daryl looked suspicious and she couldn't blame him. There was something weird about not having a weapon in your hands nowadays. Rick was obviously willing to risk it though. "All right."

"I'm sure you understand," Gareth responded as they all moved slowly, setting down their weapons.

"Yes, I do."

Ophelia stood up straight, holding up her hands as Gareth and Alex moved forward, patting down Rick and Daryl respectively. Alex grinned at Daryl. "I'd hate to see the other guy."

"You would," Rick agreed.

"They deserve it?" Alex asked, moving on to Carl.

"Yes," the boy answered.

Ophelia stood rigid as Alex approached her. She made eye contact with Daryl who gave her a short nod that made her relax a bit as Alex patted her down, moving on to Rick before she even knew what had happened.

"Just so you know," Gareth was saying, "we aren't those kind of people, but we aren't stupid either. And you shouldn't be stupid enough to try anything stupid. As long as everyone's clear on that, we shouldn't have any problems. Just solutions. Okay."

Alex moved down the line, returning all of their weapons to them. Ophelia hesitantly took back her gun and knife, glad to have the metal back in hand.

"Follow me!" Alex said cheerfully.

They did so, walking almost in a single file line. Ophelia stuck her hands in her pockets casting a glance back at the people in the room. No one met her eyes which she didn't think was too odd but she had a weird feeling in the pit of her stomach.

They were safe now, in a safe place.

So why didn't it feel like it?

* * *

 **A/N: Hello everyone! Again thank you so much to everyone who has favorited and followed this story so far. I'm going to try and do better with updates and pre-write some chapters so I can get them to you faster. You all are amazing! Feel free to drop a review and tell me what you think!**


	4. Trapped

**Disclaimer: I do not own the world of Walking Dead or its Characters.**

 **A/N: Hello everyone! Thanks for being so patient! Special s/o to new readers: Rea Josette, FriendlyNeighborhoodHufflepuff, Kara315, Eyessettokill92, Lisa Bowen, and Kenzie216.**

* * *

"When camps got overrun," Alex spoke as he led them through a courtyard, past a garden, "people started finding this place. I think it was instinct you know. Follow a path. Some people were heading to the coast, others out west, or up north. But they all wound up here."

Alex walked towards a picnic table, smiling at an older woman with auburn hair. She returned the smile as she continued to ladle food onto a plate. Ophelia's stomach cried out and she placed her hand over her abdomen. The food, what looked like some kind of meat and vegetables, smelled so good and it had been so long since she had a decent meal.

"Hi," the woman said. "Heard you came in the back door. Smart. You'll fit right in here."

"Hey Mary," Alex spoke up, "would you fix each of these new folks a plate for me?"

Mary nodded and Ophelia turned away, looking around. There were quite a few people, milling about, eating and talking. It seemed so peaceful, like there weren't monsters roaming around outside. How can these people be so calm?

"Why do you do it?" Michonne asked Alex. "Why do you let people in?"

"The more people become a part of us, we get stronger. That's why we put up the signs, invite people in. It's how we survive. Here." Ophelia turned back around, excepting the plate of food that was offered to her. She held it up to her nose, taking a sniff.

Real food.

Rick suddenly walked forward, smacking the plate Alex had been holding the ground. As his arm wrapped around the other man's neck, Daryl, Carl and Michonne all responded, raising their weapons. Ophelia followed suit, dropping her plate and raising the unfamiliar weapon and pointing it in the direction of the people watching them. She glanced over her shoulder at Rick, who was holding a gun to Alex's head, an old pocket watch in his hand. "Where the hell did you get this watch?"

Everyone in the courtyard was watching them apprehensively. Alex was shaking. "You want answers? You want anything else? You get them when you put down the gun."

"I see your man on the roof with a sniper rifle," Rick told him and Ophelia could hear him shuffling around as if he were turning. "How good's his aim? Where'd you get the watch? _Where'd you get the watch_?!"

"Don't do anything!" Alex shouted, presumably to the man on the roof. "I have this! You just put it down! You put it down. You want to listen to me," Alex said, to Rick this time. "There's a lot of us."

"Where did you get the watch?"

"I got it off a dead one. I didn't think he'd need it."

"What about the riot gear? The poncho?"

Ophelia looked around, noting the people Rick was pointing out. He recognized the clothing and the watch. . . . It was slowly starting to click in her head as to why he did.

"Got the riot gear off a dead cop." Ophelia angled her body slightly, watching as Gareth approached them. "Found the poncho on a clothesline."

"Gareth, we can wait –"

"Shut up Alex."

"You," Rick growled. "Talk to me."

"What's there left to say? You don't trust us anymore."

"Gareth –" Alex tried again.

" _Shut up_."

"Gareth . . . please –"

"It's okay. It's okay. . . . Rick, what do you want?"

"Where are our people?"

That answered Ophelia's question. That stuff, the poncho, the riot gear, the watch . . . it all belonged to the people they had come here hoping to find. Where _were_ those people? Were they dead? Or had the Terminus group done something to them?

"You didn't answer my question," Gareth responded. "The –"

Someone fired at Rick from behind. The shot missed but chaos ensued. Rick turned and the next couple of shots took out Alex. People were shouting, running to get out of the way. Rick called out for Carl.

Ophelia raised her gun. _Lose grip, watch for the kickback._

She fired and the shot grazed a woman's shoulder. Ophelia stumbled back, fighting to keep her balance.

"Get down now!" Rick shouted. "Go!"

"Come on!" Daryl yelled, leading the way as the sprinted out of the open courtyard, back the way they came. They headed towards a building, hopefully an exit, but more gun shots ran out, hitting the ground in front of them. Ophelia felt someone grab her arm and she danced back as the shots kicked up dirt.

"Here." Daryl ran towards a gate, gripping the bar but it rattled, not budging. Locked. Rick spun around and ran in the opposite direction, through a different door as gunfire hit the ground behind them.

The door led through to another part of the complex, putting them back outside. "Come on this way!"

"Get them off B!" a man – Gareth, Ophelia thought – shouted just before more shots hit the ground in front of Daryl, making the group veer off to their right, running for another building.

They were running down another pathway when a loud banging noise drew their attention.

"Help! Help!" a voice cried from a silver container maybe twenty feet away from them.

"What the hell?" Daryl muttered.

"Let us out!" another voice yelled out, the banging continuing.

"Keep going!" Rick yelled and they ran away from the container, from the voices in need, into another building, the clang of the door shutting echoing behind them.

The group found themselves in a large room. There were lit candles all over the ground and on shelves, the only lightening in the dim room. "What the hell is this place?" Daryl muttered.

Ophelia spun in place, her heart thudding against her rib cage. There were words written around the walls, written bold and dark as if whoever put them there needed them to be seen.

 **NEVER AGAIN.**

 **NEVER TRUST.**

 **WE FIRST, ALWAYS.**

"These people," Michonne mumbled. "I don't think they're trying to kill us."

"No," Rick agreed. "They were aiming at our feet."

"So if they aren't trying to kill us, what are they doing?" Ophelia whispered.

"We don't have time to figure that out. There." Rick jogged towards a door, but it closed just before they reached it, locking.

"There," Carl called out, heading towards another door that, just like the last was closed.

Ophelia backed away, watching her step as to not knock over any of the candles. "It's a trap."

"Go!" Rick yelled, going through the last door that remained open, unguarded.

"Rick!" Ophelia called but the man was already sprinting off, the rest of them following and forcing her to do the same as to not lose them. More gun shots rang out behind them, propelling the forward in a new direction. They weren't trying to kill them. They were aiming at their feet. They were sending them where they wanted her group to go.

Sure enough, the five of them ended up in another open area, a fence in front of them, a building behind. The click of at least six guns alerted them to the armed guards just outside of the fence, all aimed at them. Up on the roof, another set of people aimed their sniper rifles down at them.

Just like flies, they were caught in the spiders web.

"Drop your weapons." They all turned around, facing Gareth who stood on a makeshift platform, watching them. "Now."

None of them moved, though Ophelia knew they didn't have much of a choice. There was no getting out of this, not alive, anyway.

"Now!"

Ophelia flinched at his yell but did as she was instructed. She set her gun down on the ground, pulling her knife from her belt and setting that next to it. Around her, Rick, Michonne, Daryl, and Carl were doing the same, moving slowly and carefully. Once all their weapons were visible, Gareth spoke again. "Ringleader, go to your left. The train car, go. . . . You do what we say," Gareth continued when Rick didn't move fast enough, "the boy goes with you. Anything else, he dies."

With a glare that should have been able to melt ice, Rick turned, walking slowly towards the red train car Gareth had pointed out. "Now the archer."

Ophelia met Daryl's eye as he moved to follow Rick. He nodded again and she was starting to recognize that as his signal to her that everything was going to be okay, that they were going to be okay.

Though she honestly didn't see how.

"Now the samurai." Michonne moved slowly and deliberately, walking almost sideways so that her eyes never left Carl.

"Now you, gunslinger." Ophelia looked up at Gareth, taking note of that cocky grin on his face. That had been sarcasm, she knew; she hadn't fired her gun again during their mad dash through Terminus, her finger not even close to the trigger as she gripped the handle. She didn't know how to use this thing. It showed, and he knew it. Before she moved, she reached over to Carl, whom she had been closest to, and squeezed his hand. She tried to smile, though she was sure that it looked more like a grimace, then her hand slid from his as she followed after Michonne. "Stand at the door, ring leader, archer, samurai, gunslinger, in that order."

Ophelia stood behind Michonne, her eyes dragging across the ominous looking train car before she turned her head to look at Carl. He was trying to be brave, but there was fear in his eyes.

"My son!" Rick called out.

Gareth must have given Carl the okay because the young boy began to move, walking over with slow, calm steps. "Ring leader," their captor instructed, "open the door and go in."

"I'll go in with him!"

"Don't make us kill him now!"

Rick paused just a moment longer before he made his way up the stairs leading to the train car, sliding the heavy door open. The four of them walked in, Ophelia keeping a close eye on Carl, since she was the last one and that was the least she could do.

Rick looked at her. "He's still –?"

"He's coming," she assured him.

A minute later, the boy finally appeared at the doorway, climbing up the stairs. As soon as he was in arms reached, Rick grabbed him, pulling Carl close. Someone must have been right there behind Carl because the door slid close again, leaving them in darkness save a few shimmers of light through cracks. Ophelia turned, squinting into the darkness.

Something moved.

She reached back and grabbed someone's shirt (something that felt like leather, so it must have been Daryl). Everyone was suddenly on high alert. They wouldn't lock them in here with walkers . . . would they?

One of the bodies moved forward, slowly, coming into the light. The sun showed them another man, young, Asian with dark hair and a dirty face. "Rick?"

"You're here," Rick breathed out, sounding relieved. "You're all here."

More and more faces came into view as their eyes came accustomed to the dark, though Ophelia obviously didn't know any of them. Eight new faces, more people. Ophelia had wanted to find a group but she never would have imagined this when she met Daryl.

"They're our friends," a tall, pretty, brunette, said to Rick, gesturing behind her to four of the people. "They helped save us."

"Yeah, we found some help to," Daryl responded, and Ophelia saw him gesture to her out the corner of her eye. "Now they're all friends of ours."

A burly, red-headed man scoffed. "For however long that'll be."

"No." Everyone watched Rick as he walked to the door, the sun illuminating his face, the anger. "They're gonna feel pretty stupid when they find out."

"Find out what."

Rick met the red-head's gaze. "They're screwing with the wrong people."

* * *

 **A/N: I think I'm going to leave this here! This is going to become pretty canon for a while, folks, though I may skip over some things before we get to Alexandria. You'll be able to know what's happening though! Thanks again for reading.**


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